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Walking up to the weathered bar, I pull out a stool and toss my wallet on the bar top. A woman about the same age as my own thirty-five years walks my way, a friendly smile playing on her lips. It’s not flirty, nor is her gait overly seductive. I’ve been in my fair share of bars where the bartender swings her hips so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t throw out a hip. Hell, I’ve even capitalized on several of those moments, enjoying the fuck out of a ten-minute ‘break’ in the back room.
But not this woman. Her hair is pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail at the nape of her neck and her shirt only gives the faintest hint of cleavage. Her jeans fit her body, but don’t look painted on. Before she even reaches me, I know she won’t fit the bill for what I have in mind later. This woman probably has a husband at home; maybe even two point five kids and a dog named Sparky.
“What can I getcha?” she asks, that polite smile stretching across straight white teeth.
“Coors Light bottle, if you have it,” I answer, omitting my standard “sugar” reference and a wink.
“Coming right up,” she replies, turning and grabbing a bottle from the cooler behind her. It only takes her a matter of seconds before the top is twisted off and the bottle is placed on a coaster in front of me.
“Thanks,” I say before taking a long pull from the bottle.
“I’ll be back shortly to check on ya,” she adds politely before walking back down to the other end of the bar.
My attention turns to the handful of men watching a baseball game on the television. They’re cheering for the Braves, discussing the season thus far, and talking trash about the opponent. My kinda crowd.
In fact, it doesn’t go unnoticed how comfortable I find myself feeling, not only in this small bar tucked away off the main square, but also in this town. Shit, I felt more at ease walking around the bed and breakfast with Marissa than I ever thought I would, and I was only with her for a short time.
Marissa.
That’s a twist I wasn’t expecting.
She’s nothing like the women I usually find myself attracted to, and even though I could tell there was some attraction there, she didn’t throw herself at me, which is a refreshing change. She would be a challenge, for sure, but one I shouldn’t take. The only thing I should do is turn and walk in the other direction. I’m against everything she represents: monogamy, happily ever after, and a family. It’s practically written all over her beautiful face, and that’s the reason I need to step away.
We don’t want the same things.
But…what if we did?
I shake that fan-fucking-tastic image out of my mind because as much as I’d love to engage in a romp or two with Marissa between the sheets, I just don’t think it’s in the cards. Even if it would be dynamic, earthshaking, and mutually satisfying (and I have no doubt that it would be), I just don’t see it playing out that way. She’s not that kinda girl…
I can always tell.
And that kinda sucks.
The door opens and I find myself turning with the rest of the patrons. Expecting a few more guys looking to enjoy a few beers and watch the game away from the wife and kids, I’m pleasantly surprised when two women walk in, wide smiles and full of laughter, and make their way toward where I sit at the bar.
“Mara!” the shorter of the two says as they take the two empty seats to my right.
“Well, my night just took a turn for the better…” I mumble to no one in particular.
“This seat taken, Cowboy?” a tall, leggy redhead says as she slides onto the barstool beside me.
“Only by you,” I reply as her friend takes the seat on the other side of her.
“Thought you’d be here an hour ago,” the bartender I now know as Mara says with a bright smile as she comes over to where we sit, two bottles of light beer already in her hands.
“Not my fault. Inventory took longer than anticipated. I have very quickly run out of space and we couldn’t find two boxes of those new negligées that I just got in,” the redhead says, grabbing my attention the moment she utters the word negligées.
“They were those sexy navy ones too,” the friend chimes in, taking a drink from her bottle.
“Like the red one I got?” Mara says, absently wiping the bar top off with a rag.
“Yes! That one! What did Brent think of it when you showed him?” the redhead asks between drinks.
“There wasn’t one word spoken, believe it or not,” Mara replies, her cheeks turning pink and her grin pretty much confirming exactly what Brent’s reaction was to seeing her in whatever red negligée his wife wore home.
The three girls start to giggle, but not in that fake giggle I’m accustomed to hearing. This is a shared laugh amongst friends and the camaraderie makes a smile spread across my own face.
“So, will there be a fashion show later tonight I need to sign up for, or are we just talking about the merchandise this evening?” I ask, popping a few pieces of popcorn into my mouth. All three women seem to finally realize they’re not alone in their conversation and turn toward me. “I’m free later, just to be clear.”
